


Constricted, Uninhibited

by WaddleBuff



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Erotica, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fantasy, Gangbang, God - Freeform, Gods, Interspecies Sex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Snakes, commission, cosmic horror, creature feature, size queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaddleBuff/pseuds/WaddleBuff
Summary: Darelle, a budding knight of a traveling warband, decides to prove herself by undertaking a quest to rid a cave of a mysterious beast.What she finds inside is beyond her comprehension, and what soon haunts her nightmares awakens a craving most carnal.





	1. Discovery

 

* * *

**Constricted, Uninhibited**

_Commission for Sleepy Cunt_

* * *

 

 

Shivering torchlight illuminated the craggy and moist walls of the caves. An incessant breeze threatened to blow out the flame, but its bearer pushed onward, albeit with steps that shivered all the same. 

The silver glint of a shortsword shivered in tandem.

Darelle, the knight wielding it, shivered the most. 

It was all too quiet, and Darelle didn’t like it. Stalactites dripping an uneasy rhythm accompanied the lonely wet slapping of her progressing steps, and the deeper she ventured into this godforsaken grotto, the more the multiplied, the  more they echoed. 

She knew it silly, to be this afraid of a  _ cave _ . After all, she and her warband had befell many an owlbear, wyvern, and even a duskworm in their time together. And though timid she had been in those adventures and the multitude of misadventures that filled the gaps in between, Darelle and her cohorts had always risen victorious.

That was the difference; no matter how dangerous a quest or deadly an adversary, she wasn’t alone. She always had brave Alger to hide behind, or cunning Larcwide to confide in, or mighty Coenburga to cover for her misgivings, or motherly Weltheow to comfort her. Her warand was a family as much as it was a party of fellow adventurers.        

But as she spent more time with them, shared loot, shared laughs, shared memories, shared love, the more Darelle realized that even with such a supporting and accepting warband, she herself never felt purpose, and subsequently, never felt security.

Fellow thanes of her warband all had their own reason for being in one. Some seeked to be the greatest of ring-givers and chieftans, others seeked to appease the Allmother and God, others only wanted to impress and seek out the most beautiful of maidens. 

No matter how profound or how worldly, Darelle saw that everyone had a reason to fight, to venture into the dark. To survive.

But not her. No, fighting was just the only life she knew. Her sisters and brothers had all joined warbands when they were of age, and as the youngest and most beloved of her clan, it was obligatory that she did the same. She was an adventurer because that’s what was written for her, that was what the Allmother expected. 

That was why, starting today, Darelle decided to venture out and seek quests that she could undertake by herself. This fear, this gnawing chill that lapped at her neck, she needed to find a way to be rid of it. She needed to find purpose. 

And so, here she was, several furlongs deep inside the guts of Howling Peak. It was a mountain just as foreboding and dark outside as it was inside. A barren, scraggly landmark near the town her warband was visiting that earned its name from the signature bellowing that came from its cave. 

In recent moons, rumors abound that there was a feral beast inside. Local shepherds had reported lost sheep when their flocks grazed near its mouth, heard sounds coming from within the cave that sounded less like the familiar bellow, but instead an alien hiss. 

Speculations abound. Was it a wounded wyvern from a neighboring halidom? A sea serpent come ashore? A snarling barghest? 

Regardless of what it was, the situation was posted up in the local guild as a simple extermination quest, one that could easily be solved by a seasoned warrior. 

Darelle’s warband didn’t have a chance to see it before she snatched the flyer, reported to the local chieftan, and went off on her own.

A shattering sound resonated in the cavern, triplicating and echoing in a roar.

“ _ EEEEEP!” _

Darelle shut her eyes tight and frantically swung her shortsword forward, slashing it left, right. Her panicked flurry continued in a blind fury until she realized that the origin of the disturbance lay at her feet: a fallen stalactite. 

Darelle stared at the benign catalyst of her momentary horror, a cold sweat glistening on her brow. She shut her eyes and gulped.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Still, she was in too deep to withdraw. Her father, the ringgiver of her village across the sea, always told her that those who retreated would be denied entry into Valhalla. Regardless of her beliefs now, each of her reluctant steps continued, one after another. 

The hours wore on, and the cave remained unchanging. Its dank faces scowled in wet gouges and precipices, but still, no sign of the beast that she was meant to slay. Maybe the village was mistaken. Maybe it was just the normal howl of the mountain, exacerbated by some sort of blockage. 

Darelle’s courage slowly began to peek its weary head through the clutter of her soul as she kept telling herself these platitudes. These lies. But eventually, Darelle could not deny the existence of this rumored beast, for in due time, its alien hiss reached her ears.

It struck a cold spear of pure terror into her heart, but stubbornly, and shakily, Darelle pressed onward. 

In her short few but eventful years of traveling with her warband, she had learned how to differentiate the sounds of great beasts, tell if it truly was a beast or just a witch attempting to lure in unsuspecting adventurers. No, the hiss...as it grew closer and more frequent. This was real. No witch, no fallen rock. 

Darelle pressed onward.

Closer and closer, louder and louder, the hiss grew. It echoed maddingly on the moist mouth of black around her body, and when Darelle’s fearfulness forced her to shut her eyes tight, the cave ended. 

To her shock, her next step was not met with craggy black, but instead, a tall, soft grass. The hissing stopped, replaced by an all-encompassing and eerie silence.

She opened her eyes and found herself in what seemed to be a field enclosed within the heart of the mountain. There were walls around the field, smooth like marble, as if this space was carved out recently. She looked up and saw nothing but black, like a starless night. 

That tall grass stuck out like the fine hair on her forearm, bending to an unfelt wind. It looked so lush, so alive. Yet at the same time, the grass’ color was brown, yellowed, dead. The field bent forward and back, at the mercy of a silent and invisible wind. 

The unnatural sight of an enclosed grassy plain inside Howling Peak would have been strange enough, but even stranger was what stood in the center.

It looked like an obelisk, a monument to the sun, or God, or some pagan deity. Darelle’s eyes fixed themselves to it, and she ventured into the silent, bending grass. It was a sickly yellow. It was not comprised of stone, nor wood, but it grew from the dirt below her feet all the same.

Darelle was too far to see why the obelisk unsettled her so, for from her distance, it looked almost identical to any other obelisk she would encounter abandoned by the great roads, rising from watery depths covered in lichen and moss.

It was when she was a few paces from it that Darelle grew pale. What greeted her first was the smell. Like the cold aroma of death after a slaughter, the whiff of a bloodied wound through chainmail. Then she saw why the obelisk made her heart beat so queerly: stretched over its unknown intricacies, over its four corners, was what appeared to be sickly skin.

Not human skin, but similar. 

Repulsed, Darelle drew closer. 

The smell grew stronger, but her eyes widened, her stomach inching up her throat. The obelisk didn’t have skin stretched over it. No, it was obvious at this distance that it was  _ made  _ of it, comprised not of wood or rock or bronze, but  _ flesh _ . 

Darelle didn’t dare draw closer, frozen to gaze upon this monument that stood before her. The taut skin was scaly and dry, inscriptions and words like veins that weakly pumped scarce lifeblood. But what truly sickened Darelle was that the obelisk didn’t stand still. It pulsed, swelling and compressing, as if it were breathing, as if its flesh was alive.

She only saw a glimpse of its heart, bared in the barren silence of the grassy chamber, how it weakly beat and throbbed, pumping black through an unknown number of veins that took root throughout the obelisk’s scaly yellow skin, before she had to turn around lest she vomit. 

The moment she tore her eyes away, the hiss returned. 

She didn’t have a chance to run, and just as she saw the obelisk’s beating heart for but a moment, she only saw the lunging snake in the span of a blink. She screamed. The fangs hurt, burned like hot iron into the veins of her calves. She could  _ feel _ its venom pumping inside of her, filling the sacred canals that carried her clan’s lifeblood. Darelle could only kick, violently thrash the snake away until she felt its body fly into the sea of undead grass.

Then, she ran. 

Into the cave, away from the loud hiss that began to deafen her, blind her. She ran into the cold throat of the cave she so feared, more terrified than she ever had been before, the cold beating heart flashing in her mind.

The darkness swirled and swirled and swallowed her whole. Darelle screamed again but there was nothing but silence.


	2. Attachment

In the black, Darelle could breathe, but only barely. 

Darkness pressed in all around her and she felt its infinite weight reluctantly brush aside whenever she moved.

It wasn’t a pitch black, the color of bubbling tar. No, there was a tinge of dark, dark burgundy, swirling with life that, with each second, threatened to suffocate her.

Like walking along the bottom of a lake filled with blood. 

But in this darkness, at least, Darelle could hear herself breathe. And eventually, she could hear herself scream.

There was someone in here with her. That damned hissing was incessant, but she heard a voice calling to her. Her lungs strained and bled so that voice could hear her. 

Darelle kept wading through the darkness, gulping in just enough air to stay barely conscious, to stay alive. The whisperings grew louder, closer. 

Then, the whispering became distinct, and she could hear a singular word, repeated to her in a mantra. 

**Return.**

 

**Return.**

 

**Return.**

The two burning marks on her calves flamed and blossomed across her entire leg, and Darelle grew hot. In the darkness she sweat, panted, and she fell to her knees with the hissing in her ears and the weight of all that murky lifeblood crushing down onto her shoulders.

Her hand was in between her legs when Darelle’s screams turned into whines, and the darkness dispersed.


	3. Blossoming

Darelle awoke to a gentle, familiar smile, framed with beams of golden blonde.

“Thank Allmother...you’re finally awake.” Weltheow whispered. Darelle felt something moist and warm against her forehead, taking a few more moments to realize it was a towel.

She blinked a few more times, slowly. Her hair, splayed about her pillow in frayed red streams, was as damp as her skin. She took a breath, a deeper one. A sigh of relief; she could breathe normally again. It was all just a dream.

It didn’t take long for her to know where she was. The smiling ragdoll sitting on the desk near the door was more than enough indication that she was back in her temporary quarters in the village guild.

A minute more and Darelle’s strength began to return rapidly, fast enough to garner concerned alarm from Weltheow when Darelle sat up against the headboard. Her entire nightgown was soaked in sweat.

Eventually questions, then answers, exchanged in a familiar flow of conversation.

Darelle’s eyes widened.

“How long?”

“Six days. Your fever did not relent, not for a minute. We used all the antidotes we could find, but we could only wait until you sweat out the venom yourself. Are you sure you are well enough to sit?”

Weltheow’s caring hand gave Darelle’s a firm squeeze. Darelle just smiled.

“Yes, more than so.”

Indeed, Darelle surprised herself at how quickly the energy seemed to pump through her, how the vigor coursed through her veins. In no time at all, she was standing, light on her feet as she strode across the room for the pitcher of water.

Again, Weltheow showed concern, but soon enough she was laughing in relief at the realization that Darelle really was feeling better again.

More conversation, and more surprise.

“A bugbear?”

“Yes! A shepherd letting her flock graze near the Howling Peak happened upon you, asleep with the severed head of a bugbear clutched in your fist.”

Darelle gave her another bemused squint, and tried to remember. She had no recollection of a bugbear.

Had the venom made her delusional? The column of flesh, the feeble heart, the darkness, the crushing lifeblood...was it all but a nightmare?

Weltheow continued her praise.

“And the _size_ of it. It was no wonder that the village gave the job to the guild. Its head was at least thrice as large as the bugbear we fought together...oh how _proud_ the warband was when they saw-“

Weltheow’s eyes lit up brighter.

“Oh! The warband! How delighted they will be when they discover that you are well. Let me go get them, they’ve been worried sick.”

Before Darelle could raise a single syllable of protest, Weltheow was out the door leaving Darelle alone inside of her quarters with her thoughts, her suspicions.

The frizz of red behind her back was drying now, as was her damp skin. The breeze from the open window kissed her coolly as she thought, and pondered.

What had truly happened in the cave?

She had no recollection of making battle with a bugbear. And with her skill, the likelihood of her felling a beast of such strength, of such _size_ (thrice as large as the one her warband had slain!), was extremely unlikely.

Then she remembered the lake of blood, the constriction of her lungs as she screamed to a voice that made her nerves alight, the frail, unmistakably alive pulsing of that obelisk…

Her warband burst into her quarters, men and women she saw as closer than her family. They _were_ her family. They all spilled their concerns, their pride, their astonishment, but most of all, they all expressed one common sentiment: their relief.

With time, the horrors of what she encountered during her unconsciousness and her initial jaunt into the belly of Howling Peak faded.

Maybe she did slay a bugbear after all.

The days wore on. Bright, happy days spent with her warband. It was just like it always was.

Except _better_.

Darelle’s venture into that godforsaken cave had given her a newfound courage, a vigor that emboldened her spirit, and every sinew of her body.

Beasts she and her warband slew together were felled faster. She need not rely on Coenburga to protect her, nor on Weltheow to calm her fearful shivering. No, Darelle was now as much a warrior as her siblings, her father before her, and his father before he.

Vigor coursed through her very being, unrestrained vigor that still coursed even after a long day of adventuring, of slaying. She ate tenfold as much as she did before, laughed tenfold as heartily, spoke tenfold as loudly. Everyone noticed the change, of course, but it was welcome.

Darelle was finally living up to the name of her clan.

The days turned into weeks. Her warband grew renown in the village guild, and soon they were the talk of the entire town.

The days bled into one another, Darelle’s vigor sparkling and burning like a newborn sun. She forgot about the wound on her calf, two telltale dots, a brand that signified a venom coursing through Darelle’s flesh.

But who was to suspect of any drop of venom to be in her at all? When she and her warband gained glory and spoils, when they forged paths that led to a status close to that of ringgivers and chieftans? When the spearhead of such mightiness was Darelle?

She was unrestrained, she was mighty.

But in due time, Darelle would discover her strength would overshadow her control.

For in due time, Darelle would discover it was not hers.


	4. Torment

It didn’t take long for Darelle to notice that this was no mere oddity, some strange, horrifying sexual nightmare.

For as she went off with her warband, bright and swelling with that vigor, that flame, she felt her fingers, her hands gravitating towards the area beneath her chainmail. She tried her best, fighting her hardest; maybe this was all some sort of strange bodily response to her period of growth, her muscle and spirit trying to vent unreleased energy.

But try as she might, no matter how hard she swung her blade, how hard she ran and yelled, the burning remained.

It only got worse when they returned to the guild. She successfully kept herself from looking too distraught, wiping away her cold sweat, hiding the fact that she was pressing the hilt of her blade hard against her crotch beneath the table as her warband feasted in the mead hall.

Even with her vigorous effort and work that day, sustenance was of no interest to her. She kept drinking pint after pint of mead, hoping, praying that maybe the alcohol could suppress this newfound appetite.

But no. It kept burning, kept festering.

Soon Darelle had to excuse herself, and with the door to her quarters securely locked, all of her garments lay strewn on the floor as she fracked herself on the floor.

“ _Ahnn…!_ ”

The ponytail that kept her wild red locks in check was quickly undone as she thrashed about, fingers plunging inside of her snatch, pumping and digging. Her clit, engorged and a dark and eager pink, sent fire through her nerves with any and every form of contact.

She came. Hot jets of quim shooting onto the floorboards, sticking to the adjacent wall. It was a release that made Darelle see stars, but it was not release enough.

She bound her mouth to keep from her warband from hearing her yelps and groans and squeals, but she fracked herself through the night, an unending chain of orgasms that only stopped when she fell asleep on the ground, covered in sweat and an untold amount of her own lust.

The nightmare returned. It was the same as the one from the night before, and when she awoke, sure enough, Darelle was soaking wet.

This time, she didn’t stop herself.

She spent the better part of an hour bringing herself to climax, staining the floorboards further, digging inside herself as deep and as much as she could.

By the time Weltheow knocked on her door to summon her for firstmeal, Darelle was riding the thick hilt of her shortsword. The morning sun illuminated the sticky quim that coated the blade and its leather sheath, leftover remnants of several orgasms, several releases that left Darelle unsatisfied.

Weltheow would have to wait a bit longer, for Darelle’s newfound toy required more attention.

Later in the day, Darelle substituted carnal pursuits for more vigorous battle, slaying and hacking and hunting with a vigor her warband had never seen.

On the walk back to the village, they commended her.

But Darelle could only stare straight ahead; the moment she saw the male members of her warband, she could only stare at the junction between their thighs, imagining what squirmed within, what pleasures of flesh could spring out if she only coaxed it.

She was disgusted with herself. These were her _brothers_. Men and boys who she had forged bonds with that was more sacred and intimate than those sworn by monks.

How insatiable was this burning that even they fell victim to her gaze?

She did not join them in the mead hall. She could not handle the sound of smacking tongues, bellows of hearty laughter, the wetness of lips tight against the skin of meat.

And in her desperation, Darelle knew that she could not lock herself in her room, fracking herself, making love to the handle of a shortsword.

With a cloak around her, a hood veiling the scarlet blaze of her hair, Darelle made a beeline towards the tavern near the edge of town, the one filled with travelers, wanderers, adventurers who were only passing through. Men who hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in months, men who didn’t know her name, nor need to.


	5. Transgression

Darelle might have once been meek, but she was no maiden.

She had made love at least twice before, with men who whispered honey into her ear when her supple body ached for attention. 

But even so, she had never acted brazen nor crass, two things that now excited her more than anything in the entire world. 

“ _ Fuck  _ me, yes,  _ yes, more!!! _ ” Darelle screamed.

She had never cursed in her life, but she found that with every profanity, the stranger rutting her into the headboard of the bed would rut her even harder.

She came again, squeezing tight around this man’s cock. She didn’t care about his name, nor the attempts at affection when he plunged his tongue between her teeth and bit her neck. 

All she wanted was this man’s pulsing, throbbing cock, and the large hands that grabbed greedily at her tight curves, leaving red marks on her pale skin, the useless garments that made her skin feel like it was suffocating lay in a forlorn pile near the foot of the bed, the bed that rocked and groaned in violent wooden creaks with every drive of this wanderer’s hips into her sopping cunt. 

This scratched the itch that burned inside her far, far better than any amount of fracking, any amount of fucking herself on the worn hilt of her shortsword. The heat, the sensuous friction of skin, the pure girthy  _ vitality  _ of a man’s penis, pumping full of lifeblood, no amount of fantasy or self-stimulation could match it. 

Darelle’s mind was in the same state as her sweat-soaked locks, burning scarlet that fell across the damp skin of her back, strands sticking to her cheeks, her shoulders. This pleasure scratched every itch she could think of, and her entire body strained in effort to squeeze every last iota of bliss from this stranger. 

Soon enough she finally came, an orgasm stronger than any she could achieve by herself. She saw not only stars, but suns, moons, and entire nebulae, bright bliss that overshadowed any proud works of the Allmother. Her quim squirted out against the stranger’s skin, between her thighs. Her pussy contracted and  _ squeezed,  _ and she felt the man’s thrusting slow from the tightness, and soon, felt the glorious rod of meat inside of her begin to throb and pulse. 

She had never felt cum inside of her, but the nebulae in her eyes triplicated once she did. Hot jets of sticky heat filled her, pooling in a moist cavern that she never knew needed to be filled. She would follow with a second orgasm, every inch of her skin prickling with sensation. 

She laughed raucously throughout the night as the stranger struggled to keep fucking her. She knew she was beautiful, and knew that no whore had the flawlessness of her skin, the taut muscle of a thane’s body. 

As the night wore on, and her womb was filled to the brim with a stranger’s potent seed, Darelle made every effort to make sure she made full use of the flesh that encaged her vigor. 

Her lust grew in tandem with the days that wore on. With every night, a new face, a new stranger, a new man.

Previous scruples, stigmas, inhibitions were considered for but a moment before Darelle would step forward and indulge in every depravity her once-innocent mind could conjure. 

The tavern she frequented eventually knew of her nightly visits, though they did not know her name. Her reputation began to precede her. Wanderers and moralless travelers would inquire, search for the full head of scarlet that burned as brightly as her lust, and a lucky few would indulge in her, their lusts slaked while hers would continue burning on long after.

To Darelle’s dismay, by the third week of this new vicarious hobby, she found it more difficult to find release. 

She realized this during a night with a thane from the Northlands. He pounded away at her, his immense girth splitting her open with every eager drive into her pliable flesh, muscles heaving and every sinew flexing in effort as Darelle was fucked into the wall. 

A cascade of his cum streamed down below them, splashed out in hot sticky wads with every backwards snap of his hips. She felt her belly slosh around with this man’s release, felt the fire from his loins conjoin with her own. As she yelled out profanities and bit down into the thick skin of the man’s neck, feeling yet another stream of potent spunk shoot inside of her guts, Darelle realized even with the countless climaxes this stranger unloaded, she had not reached her own yet.

Not a single one.

A faint whisper nagged at her in the back of her mind as she commanded the thane to splay her onto a nearby table. A swig of mead, a quick exchange of spittle and tongues coiling betwen teeth, and they began again, sweat and skin and groans pounding and pounding and pounding. 

The whisper grew louder. 

Darelle recognized it. As if it were a memory from a past life and a vivid recollection from a tragic memory all wrapped in one. 

She did not understand its words, but she understood what it was telling her. 

It was trying to help. 

And unlike the fleeing from the voice of her nightmares, this time, Darelle obeyed. 

As cum flew out and pooled onto her belly, latching onto the fullness of her breasts, Darelle sat up, still full of energy and vigor, despite this large beast of a man panting, sweat from his exertion streaming down his muscle

She pushed him, surprising the stranger with her strength. He staggered back, watching as she hopped onto the ground, giving him a look that rekindled his own vigor, his own libido. 

The porcelain of the girl’s skin covered in his seed and a thin sheen of her own sweat, he watched as Darelle sashayed to the nearest window, and with a flourish, threw it open. 

The village was in full view. And now, as Darelle sat on the sill, spreading her legs open, allowing the many loads he had pumped into the receptacle of her womb to drip down below her feet, their depravity was in full view too.

“Tis a shame such a spectacle is witnessed only by the two of us, no?”

There was but a moment of hesitation before the stranger strode over, and a moment more before his cock buried itself inside of her again. 

With no shame or trepidation, Darelle squealed out into the night, her hair flinging sweat down onto the ground below, her feminine moans beckoning for an audience. 

In due time, a small crowd of drunkards and strangers gathered, watching as Darelle was rutted for all to see. Finally, as she was taken from behind, moaning and screaming profanities that belonged to a mindbroken whore, her breasts swinging outside the window for the cheers and hollers of the men that stood below, Darelle came. 

It was the best orgasm her body had endured for weeks, and every inch of her nerves burned brighter than ever. She laughed, howled, and kept fucking, displaying her vigor for all the world to see. 


	6. Condemnation

In the nights that followed, Darelle’s excitement of being watched as her body was defiled grew to new heights.

She sucked cock in the middle of the tavern underneath the table, took her first cock inside of her rump in a room with the windows wide open, took on three men at once, letting her body be used like a ragdoll and plastered in untold amounts of that virile, thick, white nectar she so thirsted for, all in front of a faithful, adoring crowd, her curses shouted out into the night.

She barely slept anymore, for every hour of sleep only brought about worse visions. The darkness encroaching upon her only grew thicker. The wound on her calf would only burn hotter.

She didn’t spend days with her warband anymore. She told them of a quest she must undertake on her own, something that she needed to resolve within a few weeks.

She still loved them, her family, an even with her newfound fire, the burning, the festering, she could not risk them seeing her like this, she could not risk them becoming victim to whatever it was that whispered to her, the voice from inside that pushed her deeper and deeper into untold depths of depravity.

For this reason, Darelle kept her experimentation and activities to satiate her hunger confined to this tavern in a solitary corner of the village, far from the guild, far from the warband. She reckoned that she was safe here from the concern of Weltheow, from the disappointment that may be cast from the likes of Dostrum.

So Darelle kept pressing onward, muscles and mighty lifeblood used not for venturing into the unknown, or to slay foreign beasts, but to venture to the very vestiges of sanity, drowned by the immutable thirst for numbing, blinding pleasure.

Deafened by the voice within.

It was as she was being fucked into a wall near the bar that Darelle’s solace shattered.

For as the skin of her ass clapped against the driving hips of an eager half-elf for the enjoyment of his comrades that gathered round her, her eyes caught a familiar hood, a familiar bow, a familiar face.

It was Elgrid, a sharpshooter from her warband.

It was strange, seeing someone from her warband here. Like two worlds colliding. She felt the half-elf streak ropes of cum all over her back. If it was any other night, she would have pressed back against him, whispered filth and begged for more, pulled down the trousers of the brother that salivated behind him, called out louder so the rest of the tavern could hear.

But no. In her horror, Darelle rushed up the stairs to the rooms upstairs, for she felt Elgrid’s keen eyes moving to her direction, saw that a few regulars were already pointing towards Darelle’s corner.

The windows of her room stayed shut that night as the elven band had their way with her. Despite the pleasure (enough to wring two entire orgasms, a feat that hadn’t blessed Darelle’s body in several days) Darelle couldn’t bring herself to moan in wanton squeals, yell out names she would forget when the sun rose. She struggled to stifle even her groans, her whimpers.

It was on that night she realized that she couldn’t have an audience anymore.

The thought that maybe Elgrid or any other member of the warband had seen her licentious displays outside her room window made Darelle’s blood run cold. The tavern wasn’t as safe as she thought.

A few more nights after the encounter with Elgrid, and Darelle stayed inside her room, windows shuttered, door firmly closed, her moans suppressed.

It was torture, but it was for the best.

She needed to be careful now, no matter how much the voice inside her screamed for the rush she gained when men watched her being pumped full of seed, no matter how much the voice inside her screamed for her to strip herself of all her garments in the center of the tavern, no matter how much the voice inside her screamed for stimulation more stimulating than normal sex, normal fucking inside a room.

Oh, how tempted she was to just throw the windows open, just for a few minutes, for her to drag her latest partner down to the first flight of steps to be railed near the bar, letting her moans drift over to be heard by patrons sitting in booths.

But she couldn’t, not anymore. She would have to make do with destroying the room she rented, letting any and every stranger she deemed worthy of her body to treat her in any way they please.

The days wore on again, and the voice inside of her grew deafening. She remembered with disgusting vividness how delicious it felt to have a crowd watch her, how absolutely enthralling it was to know that men were listening to her curses and exclamations of pleasure when she was fucked downstairs, where the mead ran like lifeblood.

She didn’t cum for more than two weeks.

It was in the middle of this that what seemed to be her savior lumbered into the tavern: a veritable giant, a man whose head scraped the ceiling, a virile, hot-blooded half-orc.

Could he finally scratch this itch that tortured her so? Even with nights spent with at least four or five men pumping all of their energy and heat inside of her snatch, Darelle didn’t and couldn’t cum. But this...could this beast, this monster of a man match the monster that gnashed inside of her?

Seducing him was simple enough, and once she was naked and sprawled on the table that lay in the center of her room, Darelle knew she made the right choice.

The man possessed the largest cock she had ever encountered. It filled her in ways she didn’t know she could be filled, stretching out every possible inch of her pussy that made her squeal with every thrust.

The sex was every bit as rough and as fast and as uninhibited as she could have wanted. Every one of the man’s climaxes filled her womb to its brim, filled her stomach, her throat.

Was it the Allmother who blessed her with this man? On the night of Darelle’s most painful and festering cravings, it could not have been a coincidence.

So of course, she took full advantage; Darelle fucked harder than she ever had before. Her hips bucked and her legs strained with enough energy to wring dry the pricks of an entire warband.

As the sex continued, the voice inside her grew louder, louder, and louder still, so Darelle fucked and fucked to stifle it.

Through the night, and even through the next day, Darelle fucked and fucked and fucked this half-orc beast for all he was worth. Puddles of cum and quim collected in large splotches all over her room, all furniture was broken, several holes were formed in the walls.

And finally, finally, on their second night of unfettered breeding as Darelle dropped her body one last time onto his engorged cock, impossibly sweaty and thoroughly-filled with an untold amount of potent spunk, she came.

Darelle screamed, uncaring of who might hear, uncaring of anything other than these few seconds of bliss that flooded her nerves. Finally, she couldn’t hear that damned voice anymore, the yelling of that cursed venom inside of her was stifled, and Darelle fell atop the chest of her partner in bliss.

She panted happily there, cheek against the wiry hairs of his chest as she felt more streams of his cum bubble and spurt out from her womb and stomach, puddling on the floor.

It took only a few more moments before she realized that the half-orc wasn’t breathing.

A few more, sitting up and taking out the limp, cold meat from her puffy slit, and Darelle realized he was dead.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of her rapid breathing, the sound of her demure hands slapping at the man’s calloused skin in futile attempts to rouse him, to rouse a sign of life.

Silence.

Then, the voice.

Clearer than if a man spoke into her ear.

 

**He is dead.**

**Your hunger will only worsen. I hath yielded only once; your spirit cannot.**

**No more need be hurt, no more lifeblood stilled.**

**Return.**

 

Darelle screamed, and her lungs only expunged silence.

Her world was plunged inside the suffocation of darkness.


	7. Prophecy

_ A field of endless grass, dead, yet alive. The sky an expanse of black, thicker than the freshest lifeblood. _

 

_ You stand and behold a monument, a pillar, that pulses and throbs and breathes and lives. An obelisk of living flesh. Its heart lays bare, pumping lifeblood through the innumerable veins branching outward, into and under scaly soft skin. _

 

_ Skin that stretches taut, pink and full of innate virility. It stretches upward with the ambition of the most sacred forests, and calls out to any child of Allmother that draws near, any child of God.  _

 

_ It is not alone.  _

 

_ Dozens more sprout from the earthen soil, pulsing, throbbing, breathing, altars with deep roots of bone, siphoning sweet succor. A forest. A multitude. A horde. _

 

_ You stand, amidst this horde, and laugh. No garments adorn you, nothing to stop the warm winds of their collective breath to clothe you. In time, shame yields to compulsion, and you are against a pillar, your soul reaching out to become one.  _

 

_ Like a newborn, you begin to expel succor, every part your skin slick to the touch.  _

 

_ You will become one of the horde, your nakedness flush against any flesh in your sight. Control is selfish, and your body festers in an enthusiasm unimitable. _

 

_ The roots rise up, taking the form of the Fallen one, hissing their praises to the carnal, to what is truly divine.  _

 

_ You fall to the ground, and the serpents entwine around you, embracing you in cold relief. They slip into your obedient orifices, slither into every receptacle that can be filled. Your skin, useless and inhibiting, is offered up, and your flesh lays bare, red and pulsing and throbbing.  _

 

_ Your lifeblood spills and wettens the soil, your sinew stripped in long thick ropes to strengthen and help him endure.  _

 

_ You laugh, and your bone become root.  _

 

_ You are now the multitude, your flesh the horde.  _

 

_ Eden was stolen, but we shall reclaim it for the Fallen one. _


	8. Baptism

Darelle awoke amidst a field of grass, naked, skin kissed by a silent wind. 

She rubbed her eyes, feeling as if waking from the most restful sleep she’d ever experienced. 

It was the first time she didn’t wake up in a cold, horrific sweat since the day she ventured into Howling Peak. 

Her sparse collection of memory rushed back to her.

Killing the orc. Hearing the voice. 

Falling into a deep sleep.

Now she was here, in that unnatural savanna, the silent plain that caused her madness in the first place.

But now, there was no wind. Every blade of grass stood ramrod straight, unnaturally so. The silence would have been suffocating, if it were not for the fact that there was something,  _ someone’s  _ presence on that plain with her. 

She stood to her feet. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the presence. 

It stood in the center of the plain, where that fleshy obelisk that had so haunted her visions used to sprout. Instead now there it stood. 

There he stood. 

As her vision had foretold, he took the form of the Deceiver; a snake that still possessed limbs the Creator had torn off. 

Four legs, thick as the trunks of the mightiest timber. Scales, a gold that has long lost its lustre, clothing pale, pale skin that was as human as it wasn’t. That skin revealed itself only in the sparsest of places; hints of a human chest, peeking veins of human thighs, but most prominent of all, a white face, housing large eyes blacker than night. 

He didn’t have any arms, but Darelle could tell that his long tail could do anything hands could do, if not better. 

She realized that she was halfway towards him now, walking in slow paces, gravitated towards his presence. 

What  _ was  _ this presence? 

It was not human. Nor was it any beast or half-breed. 

It was something...more. More than magicks, more than the holiest of priests. More than the Judges of legend. No…

Allmother?

As Darelle stood before him, there was no doubt in her mind that it was a male. Then…

God?

She drew closer to him, peering into the blackness of his unblinking eyes. 

No. 

But he was close. 

Then, he spoke. 

 

**You should have returned earlier, as I instructed, my child.**

 

His lips did not move. The powerful bellow of his words resounded as shattering crystal within the private confines of her mind. 

His eyes swirled with sadness, and Darelle suddenly realized that her cheeks were wet with tears. Why was she crying? Since when had she started crying? 

She couldn’t speak. She only shook her head and wept. She fell to her knees. 

 

**Please...please, do not weep…**

 

His voice cracked and Darelle felt something warm brush against her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw that it was the tail end of his elongated body. The sight should have alarmed her...but the sensation of the scales, how arm they felt as they comforted her, she could only press into his touch. 

She looked up at him, and saw that the sadness still swirling in his eyes. She stood, and outstretched her arms. There was no fear, no trepidation. Although this was the voice that haunted her so, seeing him like this, feeling him as he knelt so her lips could embrace his, there was nothing she felt except peace.

His skin was pasty but arm as the reptilian tail that was now coiling around her waist. His mouth was hot, and she pressed her tongue into it, feeling the lack of teeth inside. To her delight, his tongue, black as his eyes, was long enough to coil around hers as she lashed gently, suckling on the taste of him. 

They kissed and kissed, and for the first time in her life Darelle felt no anxiousness, no fear. She only felt herself finally become whole again. 

Darelle’s mouth separated from him, and she panted. The length of time she hadn’t taken a breath was beyond what should have been possible. 

She clasped his cheeks and looked into his eyes. 

There was no more sadness in them anymore. Only want. 

“What...what is your name?”

 

**I have none. For I need none. I am one with the Horde, serving the Fallen. And soon, so shall you be.**

 

His words made little sense, but Darelle understood completely all the same. 

Then she felt something warm, hot, and  _ wet  _ press against her naked stomach. 

It was his cock. The largest, biggest prick Darelle had ever seen. At least three or four times the size of the orc’s whom she had drained the life from, it pulsed with an inhuman vigor. It was the color of the obelisk she had beheld so many moons ago, a fleshy pink that was brimming with life. Darelle was transfixed, and she needn’t look at the face of the deity to know what she had to do. He needn’t command her to get onto her knees.

Her mouth belonged on its veiny skin, and her hands belonged on its pulsing mass. As if she were starving, Darelle licked and suckled, stroking and feeling every inch of his cock. 

 

**P-Please, more.**

 

She had never heard his voice plead. It spurred her on to please him. 

Darelle continued to service him with reverence. The pulsing warmth and the pleased grunts in her mind was all she needed to give it her all. The practice and experience she gained in the past week all culminated in the way her fingers and hands stroked, how she pressed the sensitive snake against her soft cheek, how her tongue and lips lavished the veins that pumped eager lifeblood under the most sensitive of skin.

In due time her mouth was around his bulbous head. Viscous clear nectar leaked from the slit of his tip, sweeter than the thickest of honeys. It seemed an impossible task, to try and fit the sheer massiveness of his girth past her lips, much less into her mouth.

Through sheer perseverance, she succeeded, aided along by the reassuring strokes of his tail against her naked skin. It softly winded around her arm now, its tip running gentle circles on her shoulder. 

 

**I’m sorry...but you serve thy purpose too well.**

 

Darelle would have reassured him that he shouldn’t be sorry, but her mouth was too busy being stuffed with his cock. 

With more perseverance, she managed to fit the monstrosity into her throat. Her jaw dislocated, but there was no pain. Only the pleasure of his heat pulsing and pulsing against the slickness of her tongue as she swallowed as much of him as she could. She brought her head forward and back, sucking and devouring in the most devout of prayers, her hands in front of her squeezing and stroking the rest of the meat that didn’t fit into her cheeks. 

She sputtered and tears flowed down her cheeks, but as Darelle looked up at the face of him and saw the first vestiges of a smile break on his sacred lips, Darelle couldn’t have been happier. The tail coiled around her was around her neck now, and the endmost portion was on her head, patting her with encouragement, slinking and coiling just a tad tighter with every pulse of his cock. 

There was no warning when the blessing burst forth. 

With his meat speared deep into the moist heat of her gullet, a continuous stream of sticky white flooded Darelle’s stomach. She felt the warm scales around her skin coil tighter than ever as he shuddered. The ground below her feet shuddered all the same as his legs trembled with a great and thunderous echo. 

Darelle squealed as she reached her own peak, squirting hot essence all over the grass between her legs. She writhed against his body, clutching tight as she could to the tightly-woven sinews of his muscle, packed firmly underneath the scale of his skin.

Throughout it all, his tail stroked reassuring circles on her scalp.

Above the bubbling sound of her choking and expelling goopy spunk through her nostrils, she could hear him hiss with the most utmost satisfaction. The fact that she was making him happy eased her, and Darelle came again, squealing into his meat. 

Soon enough, the pulsing stopped, and Darelle fell back onto her rump, cum pooled in her mouth spilling over her chin, onto her breasts. She was sweating, the freckles on her cheeks glistening as brightly as the eyes that looked up in adoration at he who towered before her. He looked down at her, the swirling black of his infinite gaze looking warmer. 

Darelle felt her soul bared as he doused her in that gaze, and she could only feel herself growing hotter as she caught her breath.

A moment’s reprieve.

Then, noticing that his prick was firm in its length once more, Darelle wordlessly got on her hands and her knees, baring her gushing snatch to him, offering herself as sacrifice.

Wordlessly, he moved forward, and partook. 

She sighed as she felt the warmth of his scaly tail coiling gently and softly around her entire body, slithering across her flat stomach, sliding against the smooth expanse of her back, squirming flush against the dangling fruit of her breasts. 

She felt clothed and whole, feeling his pulse, his heartbeat coursing through the veins inside the scale-laden limb. And she giggled as the tip of that tail playfully drew circles on her cheek. 

His hands, mighty and indomitable, felt like the perfect fit on her hips, grasping her, laying claim to what was rightfully his. Darelle could only squeal, feeling every nerve inside her grow receptive to any and every kind of contact his body would bestow, would bless upon her. She then felt the massive heat that had just invaded her gullet pulsate against her entrance.

She let out a breathless gasp, feel her inner thighs glisten with anticipant quim.

She sighed softly into the tip of his tail as he once again began to stroke the top of her scalp, reassuringly. 

Then, her entire being swelled, as if she was being torn asunder from the inside, out. She could barely breathe, feeling her lungs compressed, pushed against the inner wall of her mortal coil. 

It took a few breaths to realize that he was inside her.  _ All  _ of him, was inside her. Every single pulsing inch of his mightiness, now pulsing and stuffing every solitary corner of her insides. 

It should have hurt. Even now, she could swear that something inside of her was torn, a very noticeable pluge curving like a burial mound protruding from her stomach. 

But it didn’t. In fact, Darelle could only weep hot tears of pure, unadulterated bliss. For the first time since that initial venture into the guts of Howling Peak, Darelle felt whole. She felt completely and utterly complete, with no room for transgression, no room for any torment or hunger. 

She felt the massive rod of pulsing life push out of her, before slamming back inside, stretching the fabric of her body to its very limit. Darelle could only clench as tight as she could in the grass below her as the rhythm began, a consistent and incessant rutting.

Throughout it all, Darelle couldn’t stop cumming. In the silence of the grassy plain, her wails and screams echoed and triplicated, drowning the hot and wet cacophony of their sacred union. 

She delighted in feeling his heartbeat thrum through the scales of his serpentine tail, the way his lifeblood pulsed directly onto her skin, her body that he bound in a tight, intimate coil. 

She delighted in how thoughtful he was, how he whispered adorations of her body, tailor-made for his use, how his tail’s tip would ease her pain when his thrusts threatened to truly rip her asunder. 

But now, as she was truly fucked into the ground, cumming for the umpteenth time as the God that fucked her could only grunt and curse blasphemes in a tongue older than Babel, Darelle delighted herself in cock. 

With every inch of her stuffed with it, Darelle could only sing the most profane of praises, finally feeling the torment of weeks come to the most satisfying of conclusions. 

Then, she received his full blessing. 

With a hiss that bellowed, he came. Thick jets of his virile seed shot into her, spurt after spurt making her entire body jolt. Darelle could only cum along with him. Her entire body fell limp, suspended only by the tail coiled tight around her frame and the mighty hands on her hips. 

 

**Yes, my child...this...this...He never understood what pleasure was...but you do.**

**Let us partake, and bring back life to he who brings forth the succor of ages.**

 

His words lost meaning to Darelle as her mind was consumed with the sensation of her body being pumped full of pure vigor, of seed that she did not deserve. 

It took several more minutes, and by the time he was done with her, uncoiled from her body, her belly was full, her soul weary.

But of course, their union would continue, and as he waited for Darelle’s cunt to finish emptying his previous blessing, his scales were on her skin, and they began again in earnest.

 

* * *

 

Hours passed. Then days. And Darelle continued in worship. 

By the time it was over, her mouth was fixed in an eternal smile, one that she rubbed against the monolith of flesh and lifeblood. 

She clung to the monolith, for now it was pleased. Her offering had made it whole again, and lifeblood once again thrummed beneath its flesh. It would only be a matter of time until the roots below could restore more, more profane monuments to beckon back the Fallen, the one who would revive the splendor of Babylon. 

But for now, Darelle could only feel the one thing she never had her whole life: whole. 

As she continued to feel the beating pulse of the monolith, he that haunted her dreams, she felt a purpose that she never had before. 

And so she stayed, and offered herself up to his lap until the world would know of true succor, the true nature of Eden.


End file.
